Days are spent,
To each, their own,
Fruits of labor,
Productive tones.
Instances arise,
Handle at best.
Dealt in the brain,
Then put to rest.
Sometimes though,
Feelings shredded.
Won’t leave the mind,
Stays imbedded.
Relief is needed,
For anger’s tested.
Keep close, composure,
Hold feelings close vested.
Then grab a pencil,
Or, pen in sight,
Those groups of words,
Set together, fight.
This kind of integrity,
Would do all some good.
Write down first on paper,
Appropriate move.
Phrases hold feelings,
Your heart and mind.
Been a practice for ages,
Of the thoughtful kind.
It’s a kind of freedom,
Not available to all.
Those from same fabric,
Will inside, stand tall.
Writers have power,
Must nurture within.
Their defenses are these,
Paper, pencil and pen.